


Unmasked

by 1Strategy_Renee1



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen, Welcome to Sanditon
Genre: F/M, HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Strategy_Renee1/pseuds/1Strategy_Renee1
Summary: Happy New Year! This is a light, one-chapter story to capture the fact that yes, we are indeed in a pandemic. Let’s see what happens when Charlotte and Sidney have to deal with the reality of face masks and social distancing at the end of 2020. HEA as always!
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 67
Kudos: 164





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking on this story. So a little background…I sat down to quickly check email before I was supposed to clean my office/gym/catchall room. Then I decided to procrastinate and spend the time writing this short HEA story instead. It’s only one chapter (I’m always way too verbose, so one long chapter!). I was going to delete it then figured I’d put it out there if anyone liked it/needed a bit of something pandemic-related (does anyone, really?). I don’t pretend to get all the restrictions right--please see health authorities for that. Not sure if it has already been done (sorry if this is a repeat) or if it works at all, but hey, if not—toss it in the fire with the rest of 2020!
> 
> Keep safe and healthy! Happy New Year and see you on the other side!

Charlotte picked up her phone. “Still no bars,” she said, placing it back down on the table and smiling broadly. The cozy cottage was all the Airbnb listing had promised. Middle of nowhere—check. Beautiful forest and plentiful wildlife—check, check. No cable, 1990s-speed internet that only occasionally connected, limited cell service—check, check, check. After a year of living the pandemic nearly eighteen hours a day, all Charlotte wanted to do was take off her mask to breathe the country air, play with her chocolate Labrador in the snow, and read anything that could take her away from the craziness that would forever define 2020.

This was only the second day of her two and a half-week retreat and she already felt the knots in her neck starting to release. The blizzard that began last night had made it all the better as everything was wonderfully quiet—a peace she hadn’t known for such a long time. At first, she felt guilty for taking vacation, but after ten months of seven-day workweeks, her boss said a holiday was no longer optional even for a healthcare reporter during a pandemic, and she had to admit, she was liking that she was starting to feel more human again. She had yet to have the pleasure of making sourdough bread, writing the next great novel, or working on 5,000-piece puzzles like her friends and was looking forward to doing all of those 2020 hobbies in the time she had before the new year.

If there weren’t a pandemic, she would have spent the holidays with her family and was happy that all of the Heywood clan had decided to celebrate separately so they’d all be healthy and able to gather next year. At least they listened to her on that point since they rarely did anything else—like how being single was just fine, really, just fine.

Her dinner was almost done. Comfort food for her—a fine boxed mac and cheese—and a mix of kibble and baked chicken for Coco. She had just put down the food for Coco and was about to set a fresh bowl of water on the floor when a knock on the cottage door made her nearly drop it. “Shit,” she yelled, barely catching it. Coco immediately started barking like she always did at any loud sound—full attack dog mode while hiding under the table.

She put the bowl on the floor and stood still. “Middle of nowhere, night, they clearly know you are here—it’s an axe murderer. Great—I’m going to be killed on vacation,” she whispered to herself. The unwanted visitor knocked again and Charlotte quickly grabbed a weapon—a spatula hanging from the utensil rack—and wrapped her scarf around her face as she had left her mask in her car not thinking she’d need it here. She approached the door, realizing how stupid it was to have used a scarf as a mask—“you provided the murder weapon—reporter strangled on vacation,” she thought and considered removing it, but the knock came again, this time louder.

“I’m not a psycho—my car slid into a snowbank a mile or so back and you are the first sign of life. I can’t get any bars,” the man said, the timbre of his voice immediately shockingly appealing.

“This is how they get you to open the door—sexy voice and all,” she thought, her hand on the deadbolt as she weighed her next move.

“For fuck’s sake. I’m wearing loafers. I can’t feel my feet. I didn’t think I’d have to walk this damn far,” he said. “I have about six-hundred pounds in my wallet—you can have it all, you can have the fucking black Amex, just let me get warm and give me a damn phone…please. I’m sorry. Please.”

Charlotte swiftly opened the door to a tall man dressed in a long camel coat, cashmere cap, and white cloth face mask. All she could see of him were his brown eyes framed by long, dark lashes that were somehow familiar. “Can I please come in?” he asked, removing his bare hands from his pockets. “I forgot to pack gloves.”

“Come stand by the fire,” Charlotte said through the thick wool scarf covering her nose and mouth, spatula at the ready.

He quickly brushed past her and rushed to the fireplace, dropping his leather Tumi backpack on the sofa. Piece by piece he removed his cold and damp outer clothing and shoes, clearly desperate to get warm. 

Charlotte closed the door and went to the kitchen to heat up the kettle. Coco had inhaled her dinner during the exchange and was surveying the visitor from under the table. “Really, I could be killed and you’re hiding with a full belly,” Charlotte thought, hoping her five-year-old Lab read her mind.

She turned to her unwanted guest. “I’ll have some hot tea for you in a bit. Do you want milk or…” she stopped as she watched him remove his jumper, nearly taking his shirt with it before he reached and pulled it down. Every muscle of his tanned back was more defined than a Gray’s anatomy diagram and Charlotte suddenly felt it very hard to breathe from under her scarf.

“I saw some men’s clothes in the chest,” she stuttered as she crossed the room to the trunk in front of the queen-sized bed. On her way, she grabbed a cotton bandana from her bag and replaced the wool scarf with another make-shift mask. She rummaged around the chest, not sure if the clothes belonged to the owners or were remnants of former guests. “Here are some sweatpants if your trousers are wet—and some socks,” she said, placing them on the chair nearest the fire and stepping away.

“Thank you,” he said, looking at her.

Charlotte didn’t realize at first that his look meant that she should turn around. It wasn’t until the kettle started to whistle that she comprehended his wishes and hurriedly made her way to the kitchen. As she poured the tea, she looked out the kitchen window, catching her reflection in the glass. She looked like a bank robber out of the American old west with her bandana about her face. Her hair was wild and much longer than usual as she had yet to have it cut since lockdown and she was wearing what had become her new pandemic uniform—thick wool socks, heavy gray sweatpants, and a dark purple long-sleeve Smartwool shirt that looked good on Zoom calls when she covered it with a grey jumper.

While she regarded herself in the reflection, she also noticed her guest and felt horrible yet couldn’t turn her eyes away as she watched him peel his cold trousers, socks, and briefs from his body and don the borrowed sweatpants and socks. She had been single long before the pandemic began and being holed up in her flat with only her dog the past year had her feeling more than interested in the sight. “Shit, shit,” she yelled, as, distracted by her guest, instead of pouring the boiling water in the cup, she poured it on her fingers.

She quickly turned on the faucet and placed her hand under the lukewarm water while her visitor ran to her and felt the temperature. “Good,” he said, holding her hand under the water, examining her fingers. “A few more minutes and you should be okay,” he said, giving her what looked from his eyes like a caring smile under his mask. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he released her hand and stepped six-feet back. “It’s just that people usually think to put ice or freezing water on a burn…I didn’t want you to hurt yourself more.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m pretty familiar with this kind of thing, thank you.” She paused a moment. “Why don’t you serve yourself some tea. There is some milk in the fridge and some sugar and honey on the counter over there,” she pointed with her elbow in its direction.

“Thank you, and really, you don’t need to worry. I’m not a serial killer,” he said, picking up the cup and adding some honey.

“I wouldn’t think…” she started, keeping her hand under the running water.

“No, the right answer is that you are also not a serial killer—I don’t know what I’m walking into here. Isolated cottage, a woman alone during the holidays. For all I know, this is a _Misery_ remake,” he joked, realizing too late that it was most likely too early for that type of witticisms. “I’m sorry, I’m just really tired and really, really happy to be warm,” he said as he walked to his backpack and retrieved his wallet. “Here, a promise is a promise,” he said, placing his cash and the black Amex on the counter. “If I can just use your phone?”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, removing her hand from the water and wrapping it in a towel. “There isn’t a landline and it seems that the stars align only between seven and eight in the morning to enable a cell signal.”

“Sounds like a perfect place—unless you actually need to reach someone to have your rental car towed,” he said, sitting down on the recliner near the fire.

Charlotte leaned close to the window and peered out—all she could see was white snow whipping in every direction. “At least they had a garage for my car, although I can’t even get to it with this snow,” she thought, marking that she really needed to contact the owners during her one-hour cellphone window about snowplowing the driveway if this didn’t melt before she needed to leave. She also realized that there was no way she could send this stranger out into the snow. A one-room cottage sounded great when she was one person. Now, she figured she’d just stay up all night and tackle one of her new pandemic pastimes until he left in the morning.

“If you promise not to kill…” she started as she turned to look at him, then stopped. He was clearly asleep. “Great,” she muttered to herself as she retrieved a blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over him. After quietly adding two more logs to the fire, she went back to the kitchen to eat some of her now cold mac and cheese. As she placed a large spoonful in her mouth, she glanced at the cash and his black Amex, which she had no intention of accepting.

Charlotte spat out two elbows of macaroni onto the card when she read the name—Sidney Parker. “Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered her favorite swearword as she grabbed a towel and wiped off the card, looking back at him to ensure he was still asleep.

She instinctively retrieved the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator and poured a full glass as she remembered back to her early days as a reporter at the _Financial Times_. She was on beat rotation and they had assigned her to review the new restaurant of acclaimed chef Sidney Parker for the weekend magazine. Even though she had explained that she knew little of the dining habits of the beau monde, her editor thought she could provide a fresh perspective. While every other review praised the new venue, Charlotte found it a rather pretentious offering and wrote a scathing article that, while praising the kind waitstaff, called the surroundings “conceited” and the food “adequate but overpriced.” Her editor suffered many an irate call from Sidney’s business partners, who banned her for life from all of his restaurants. Even several of the restaurant’s customers threatened to discontinue advertising in the paper. Despite her review, that restaurant, like all of his others around the world, became a monumental success.

“If he hadn’t planned on killing you before, he most certainly will when he figures out who you are,” she thought as she stored the mac and cheese in the refrigerator, grabbed the spatula and headed to the bathroom. She removed her bandana and readied herself for bed where she planned on spending the night working on her novel on her laptop while keeping an eye on her guest. After tightening the bandana back around her nose and mouth, she climbed into bed with her laptop, frustrated that Coco had opted to sleep at Sidney’s feet instead of joining her in bed.

*****

Sidney awoke, temporarily forgetting where he was. His back ached from sleeping in the chair, he was hungry, and something heavy was on his feet. This was most certainly not how this trip was supposed to go. He knew it wasn’t the best option to fly during the pandemic, but he felt he couldn’t trust the over-burdened shipping and postal agencies to get his most precious and romantic parcel delivered safely to Sanditon all the way from Antigua. Little did he know that the country would go back into lockdown while he was in the air, nor did he expect this type of crazy weather.

“It’s 2020, why wouldn’t you expect it,” he thought to himself, angry he hadn’t planned better. He’d been in living in Antigua for several years and his winter attire was limited to an old dress coat and cashmere cap. “You are an idiot,” he muttered to himself. He looked down and saw the weight on his feet—a large sleeping dog. Not knowing if the dog was set to attack if he moved, he sat still for several minutes until the need to use the restroom overtook any fear of the dog. He gently removed his feet and padded quietly to the bathroom. He removed his mask and washed his face. He eyed his host’s toothbrush, desperate to brush his teeth. Instead, he found a Q-tip, loaded it with toothpaste, and did his best.

After donning his mask, he exited the bathroom and looked down at his host who was fast asleep—bandana covering half her face and her hair concealing the other. He smiled at the spatula gripped in her hand as he took the laptop that was precariously balanced near the edge of the bed and placed it on the nightstand. A quick glance at his phone told him there was still no cell service and there was at least an hour until the stars would supposedly align to provide it.

*****

The most wonderful smell greeted Charlotte as she opened her eyes. She sat up quickly, annoyed that she had fallen asleep, and felt the bed for her weapon.

“I had to borrow your spatula,” Sidney said, his eyes focused on the cast iron pan in front of him. “I figured I could at least make you breakfast for saving my life.” He turned off the burner and looked through the cabinets for some plates. “I didn’t find any coffee, but there is tea,” he said as he plated his creation.

“There is none. I don’t drink coffee,” she said, looking down to make sure her clothes were covering what they should before she climbed out of bed. “I’ll be right back.” She swiftly closed the bathroom door and looked in the mirror. “How could you fall asleep?” she asked herself as she reached for her toothbrush. Her memory flashed back to the image of Sidney that accompanied her article—even though that review was years ago, she had to admit, she thought of that picture often. She did her best to look somewhat presentable, piling her long hair in a bun on top of her head. “There is no taming these,” she said aloud as she stroked her eyebrows, knowing she left her tweezers as well as any cosmetics other than face cream at home.

She opened to door to find Sidney seated on the recliner where he had slept, plate in hand. “Six feet, right?” he muttered with a half-full mouth, motioning to her plate at the table. “I hope steak omelets with your aged cheddar work,” he said as Charlotte lifted the fork to her mouth. She put the fork down, her eyes apologetic. “Sorry, vegetarian,” she said, looking at Coco who clearly and very happily knew she’d be getting that omelet shortly.

“You have a full shelf of chicken and steaks in there,” he said, taking a bite of what he considered one of his better omelets given the available ingredients.

“All for the dog,” she said, taking down a box of granola from the cupboard. “It was really nice of you, though. Um, do you want it, or should I?” she asked, again looking down at Coco. Multiple alerts from both of their phones answered the question and Charlotte quickly placed the plate on the floor.

Some fifteen minutes into their frantic texting—Charlotte to wish her family happy holidays and contact the owners about plowing the drive and Sidney to report the accident to the rental car agency and to tell his family about what had happened—Sidney’s phone rang with a call.

“Hello,” he said, on speaker, trying to talk and text at the same time.

“This is Alyse with Lufthansa. Is this Mr. Sidney Parker?” the voice asked calmly.

“Yes, this is,” Sidney answered, guessing immediately that this was not good news.

“Sir, a passenger in the first-class cabin has tested positive for COVID and while you were not seated next to the person, we’re advising everyone in the cabin to quarantine for the next two weeks and if you’ve been in close contact with anyone or used the same facilities in the last twenty-four hours, they should quarantine as well—just to be safe,” she said.

“I understand,” he said, looking at Charlotte, who had stopped her texting at the news, then at the bathroom, then at the kitchen, then back to Charlotte.

“I’m sorry for the news, but it’s best to take every precaution,” Alyse said. “Happy New Year, sir.”

“Shit,” Charlotte said, looking back down at her phone—all bars gone.

“Indeed,” Sidney responded, dropping his hands to his sides. He looked at his phone for another minute, willing cell service to resume. “I’m really sorry,” he said, his eyes full of apologies. “I’ll try to go dig out my rental.”

Charlotte looked out the window, the snow still whipping in all directions. “No. You’ll stay here until this clears and then we’ll figure out next steps. I went a little crazy when I food shopped for this vacation so we should be fine there—and the sofa is yours,” she said, thinking through all of the things she’d written about the virus and the current guidelines. “And, I really don’t want to go through this alone if either of us has it,” she whispered more to herself than to him.

Neither said a word as Charlotte tried to connect to the internet using the cottage’s nearly ancient technology and Sidney cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. She was desperate to connect with one of her sources at the NHS to assess the risk but the system kept dropping the signal. From Sidney’s behavior—wearing a face covering, social distancing, the number of times she’d seen him wash his hands—she assumed he was most likely doing all he could to stay safe. She could read in his slumped shoulders and his inability to meet her eye that this was weighing heavy on him.

“I think we need to do something to take our minds off of this…I know who you are, Sidney. I saw it on your Amex card. I’m Charlotte,” she said, instinctively raising to extend her hand and then stopping.

“I know, you’re Charlotte Heywood with the _Financial Times_. I saw the tag on your computer,” he said, giving her what appeared to be a weak smile under his mask. “Please say you’re not planning to write about this—write about me,” he inquired awkwardly.

“Really, that’s what Sidney Parker, celebrity chef, is worried about right now?” she countered. “I’m not some gossip columnist.”

“I’m sorry, I know—I’ve actually been reading your work online,” he said. “You’re good—I’ve really trusted your coverage throughout all of this.”

Charlotte was at a loss for how to respond. She expected that he’d chew her out for her review years earlier, not compliment her work. “Maybe he forgot,” she thought. “I’m going to hop in the shower,” was all she could come up with and disappeared into the bathroom.

*****

“Of course,” she said aloud when she realized she had left her clean clothes in the other room. She’d been wearing the other outfit for three days and didn’t want to put on, what she had to admit, were rather smelly clothes. She wrapped herself in the too-small damp towel, put on her bandana, and peeked her head out the door. “Can you turn around for a second,” she said, Sidney’s back already to her.

She stepped out to grab her things from the bureau, clutching the towel that kept slipping.

“Did you say something? I had my earphones in,” he asked turning around, scaring Charlotte to the point where her towel slipped from her hands to the floor and she quickly crouched to retrieve it.

“Shit,” he whispered and spun back around, pretending not to see anything. He waited until the bathroom door slammed. “This is going to be a long two-weeks,” he said smiling to himself, thankful he had such a gorgeous image to see him through.

*****

It took about twenty minutes for the blush of embarrassment to leave Charlotte’s cheeks. While Sidney looked like a damn god naked, she was fairly sure that the curves she’d added over the pandemic might not be as appealing, or maybe they were. “What do I even know what men like these days,” she muttered, arranging her hair into two French braids. She laughed at herself—“unless he has a Heidi fetish, nothing’s going to happen with this style—but I like it.”

She opened the door to see him writing something on one of six pieces of legal pad paper he’d pasted on the wall. “What is all this?”

“I thought we might want to do a schedule so we don’t kill each other over the next thirteen days and eight hours,” he smiled. “I’m happy to play cruise director since I did this to you.”

“Number one, please stop blaming yourself. Number two, do you have a countdown going or something?” she asked.

“It’s kind of the ‘remove the mask countdown’—that is if we get through without catching it,” he held up his phone. “So everything I’ve listed can be done six feet apart—is there anything you want to add?” he said as he stepped away from the make-shift calendar.

Charlotte surveyed the options—everything from cooking classes and trivia night to lectures on what she’d learned about the virus. “What is this exercise time?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Well if this blizzard ends, I found a pair of gloves and some boots that are about a size too big, but I figured we could run around with the dog. Or, I also found these,” he held up old Jane Fonda and Billy Banks VHS tapes as well as a Striptease workout DVD.

Charlotte laughed. “Yes, the television only plays VHS tapes or DVDs—no reception. I originally thought that was a good idea.”

“Hey, it is. Look, they’ve got every Hitchcock film imaginable and some of the others, like these 007s, are really good. And I noticed you brought like a year’s worth of popcorn with you so I’m thinking movie night is on. You can have the first pick,” he added, trying to get her to buy-in.

She nodded, hoping that her eyes expressed the gratitude that she was feeling at that point.

*****

Charlotte and Sidney spent their first day together baking bread, doing Jane Fonda’s classic workout, and watching Charlotte’s first pick, _To Catch a Thief_. Their routine was fairly the same for the next several days, both of them focused on the scheduled event and their conversation focused only on the task at hand.

It was day ten when their friendly habitation was tested. They had a sociable enough day—conversation was light over their distanced breakfast, they laughed more than exercised to Richard Simmons’s _Workout to the Oldies_ , and Charlotte detailed the viability of the vaccines and why it was safe to take them to achieve immunity goals. Charlotte went to take what had become her routine predinner shower while Sidney prepped dinner.

“How does chicken with wine sauce sound for us and I can use the same wine sauce for a tomato and pasta dish for your mom?” Sidney asked Coco who had clearly gained at least two pounds since the quarantine started. The dog simply looked up at Sidney and gave him the same loving expression that she did whenever he spoke. “Do you need to go out?” he asked, retrieving two bottles of Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator and emptying them into the pot to make his sauce. “That may have been too much,” he thought as he walked to the front door.

“Okay, here we go,” he said opening the door for the dog who immediately spotted a deer in the dark and gave chase. “Shit,” he said, looking for the too-big boots.

Charlotte stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair and dressed in her standard movie-night clothes to see a very nervous Sidney dressing at the open front door. “What is it?”

“Dog. Deer. Sorry,” he said as he threw on his coat and ran out shouting “Coco.”

Charlotte rapidly dressed and followed Sidney’s tracks as he clearly followed Coco’s. She whistled as loud as she could then shouted “NOW!” hoping that the dog would obey when so otherwise enticed by a deer. Charlotte had never needed to use that command before and wished she had practiced it more since puppy school.

Sidney heard the whistle and Charlotte’s shout and stopped cold, listening for Coco. Thirty seconds later the dog sped past him toward Charlotte and Sidney turned to follow as quickly as his oversized boots would take him. He arrived back at the cottage to see Coco laying under the table and Charlotte standing by the fire, removing her boots which she had put on so fast that she had no socks—her feet were beet red and her hair looked as if it had ice at the ends. 

“I didn’t know she’d bolt,” Sidney said, securing the door then removing his coat.

“She’s unpredictable sometimes. I should have warned you,” she said politely, clearly angry but not looking to start anything. “Can you pour me a glass of the Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge while I warm up?”

“I see some red wine in the pantry and some port… and the whiskey you offered to me…how about any of that?” he asked, suddenly realizing that using the wine she had a glass of each night was most likely not the best ingredient for his sauce.

She looked at him, then to the stove, then back at him. “Is it my wine I’m smelling?” she asked, suddenly wanting to do a little Billy Banks Tae Bo on his ass for both the wine and for letting the dog out at night without a lead.

“Look, I forgot…” he said, knowing that if the expression under her mask was anything like the look in her eyes, she was angry. “I swear, the food will be worth it. The chicken…” he started, realizing that dish was for him and Coco.

Charlotte walked to the pantry, grabbed a bottle of red that she liked but was definitely not a favorite, took her laptop, and locked herself in the bathroom, desperate for some time alone. She’d never been one for roommates before and while Sidney had been ideal as well as very lovely to look at, Charlotte was feeling a lot of different things and was simply frustrated…frustrated by the situation, by the year, by her life, and surprisingly by the fact that he had forgotten her review, a fact that she knew should be a relief but suddenly wasn’t. She knew if she stayed for a minute longer with him out there, she’d take it out on him in a way that he didn’t completely earn.

She opened her laptop to review her so-called novel. She had started it long before the pandemic and hoped to make some real progress during this vacation. While she loved her job, she always adored writing fiction but never had the time, especially this year, and instead of feeling like she accomplished something significant in 2020, which everyone who read her work in FT said she did, she felt like something of a failure. She closed her novel and pulled up her 2020 personal goals—all if which went unaccomplished. The top of the list was to go out on at least five dates. The second was to fill out an online dating application. It was easy to say the pandemic put an end to all of that, but the reality was, she was never going to do it. She closed her laptop and took a hefty swig of the wine; happy it was a screw top as she didn’t think to grab a corkscrew before locking herself in the bathroom.

“You’re doing stellar, as always,” Sidney said as he put the chicken in the oven. “First you terrify the poor woman by showing up here at night, then you give her a potentially fatal virus, then you take over her vacation to quarantine, then you almost lose her dog, and to top it off you use her wine for a sauce that will primarily be eaten by you and her dog—rock-solid performance, Parker,” he said shaking his head. He poured himself two fingers of whiskey and gulped it down a bit too quickly but didn’t care and refilled his glass to three. “You don’t need a pandemic to be alone—you’ve been doing really well isolating yourself for nearly a decade.”

After drinking half the bottle of red on an empty stomach Charlotte craved popcorn like she never had before—but it had to be Sidney’s popcorn with the best blend of butter, sea salt, and a few chocolate pieces thrown in for good measure. When she finally exited the bathroom, she adjusted her face covering and tossed her laptop gently on the bed. The kitchen was cleared of all dishes and Sidney was slumped in the recliner petting Coco and fast-forwarding through the movie previews on a VHS tape.

“Hey,” Charlotte said softly, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter. “Sorry about that.” She leaned against the table, needing something to stabilize herself.

Sidney put the movie on pause and stood, a bit wobbly himself. “No, look, I really screwed everything up…it’s just what I do,” he said, lifting his mask up slightly to take another drink.

“What do you mean? Everything you touch turns to gold—you have a super successful business, and you are really nice and funny…” she started, realizing for the first time that it looked as if he hadn’t shaved and she could see a lovely beard growing under his mask. “And you’re really hot,” she said sliding the bottle under her bandana to take a long drink, realizing mid-gulp that she had said that last part aloud.

“Right back at you,” he said, taking a long sip of his own.

They both looked at each other, taking an occasional drink, wondering if either of them actually meant what they just said. “Would you make me some of your popcorn?” Charlotte finally asked, as the red wine combined with his comment was making her feel very warm.

Over the next several hours they ate bowls of popcorn and watched Sidney’s pick, _The Man Who Knew Too Much_ , drank and said things they both meant and didn’t mean about their families, their lives, their ex-lovers, politics, their fears of dying from this virus before ever meeting “the one,” and Charlotte’s thirty-minute diatribe on never having had a really great kiss and how they don’t make men like Cary Grant any more which she concluded by singing _Que Sera Sera_.

“I guess I forgot to add the ‘get blasted and share your deepest secrets’ to our activity calendar,” Sidney laughed. As the movie ended, he inserted their go-to film, _To Catch a Thief,_ and pressed play.

“Is this the fifth time?” Charlotte asked, happy to find one of the chocolate pieces in the popcorn.

“I think seventh,” he said, finding his own chocolate piece in his bowl.

They watched quietly until Grace Kelly invited Cary Grant to her room to watch the fireworks. “Can I kiss you Charlotte?” Sidney asked, keeping his eyes focused on the screen.

“Sure,” she said bluntly, thinking he was joking. “But, you know, pandemic and all.”

“Not now, but some day?” he looked at her, his eyes focused on hers with an intensity that she didn’t expect.

“Okay,” she whispered, suddenly very sober and feeling very exposed even with her mask.

Sidney turned back to the movie and Charlotte placed the popcorn on the table, no longer craving anything but some day. 

*****

Charlotte awoke much later than she wanted. “Bar-time,” as they started calling it, was almost over and she quickly checked her phone and responded to her parents as well as her NHS contact who advised her to keep doing what she was doing. She could hear Sidney in the bathroom talking to someone and while she tried not to hear, the door was much too thin to prevent it.

“I have it yes…of course…you don’t need to worry…I can’t wait to see your face…I love you so much…yes…I’ll call you when I’m through with everything here,” he said. “And darling, I’m really sorry about all this.”

“That can mean a lot of things,” she told herself, trying to push the conversation from her mind while wiping the dried drool from the side of her mouth. She ran though all they had talked through last night but the only thing that mattered was that Sidney wanted to kiss her, some day.

*****

The next two days were the most fun Charlotte had in a long time. After their drunken night, they were much more relaxed with each other than they had been and more than ready to share their thoughts and be blunt when they disagreed. There were occasionally some shouting matches, that somehow excited Charlotte instead of making her mad.

It was the last day of quarantine and they were both more than relieved to be symptom free. They were committed to seeing it to the end and at six that night they had planned a ‘demasking dinner’ where they could actually eat together at the same table without sitting six-feet apart or trying to work around their face coverings. They also agreed that it was only appropriate to again watch _To Catch a Thief_ since it had seen them through most of the quarantine.

During “bar-time” Sidney confirmed with his rental company that the car had been towed to a nearby garage and would be available tomorrow. Charlotte connected with the cottage owners and they had a snowplow scheduled at nine the next morning since it was again forecasted to snow that night.

Charlotte and Sidney spent a good part of the day creating an army of snowpeople in the front of the house to scare the snowplow driver—both of them channeling their best Calvin and Hobbes creations. After, they both readied for dinner…Sidney hard at work on creating something using the last of their ingredients, and Charlotte designing paper crowns and other decorations that they intended to burn in the fireplace at night’s end.

“Hey, come and taste this,” Sidney called, leaving a new spoon near the pot and stepping away.

Charlotte walked to the kitchen and brought the spoon to her mouth. “That is amazing—what is it?”

“It’s a garlic cream sauce—I forgot about it. My mom used to make it—it’s really simple. Can you grab my notebook—I want to remember to use this recipe…it’s in the middle pocket of my backpack,” he said resuming his position of stirring the sauce as Charlotte retrieved his book.

She fished her hand in what she thought was the right pocket, picking out a small leather box. Not thinking, she instinctively opened it to reveal a diamond and emerald engagement ring. The conversation she overheard days before echoed in her ears and she immediately started to feel the most embarrassed she’d ever felt. For days the idea of being kissed by Sidney Parker had propelled her through the end of the quarantine, hoping that the day he spoke of would be soon. She realized now they were both drunk and there was no way he really meant anything he said.

Sidney’s phone alarm went off and he turned to Charlotte to celebrate their demasking but saw her eyes glassy as she looked at the ring. “Charlotte, no,” he said, instantly hating the hurt look in her eyes.

“No, I’m so sorry. I found it when I was looking for the notebook,” she said, closing the box. “It’s really beautiful. Your fiancé is really lucky,” she kept her eyes cast downward as she put the leather box back in his bag and stood. “I’m going to use the restroom—pour a glass of port, would you?”

Sidney quickly intercepted her and gently grabbed her wrist—it was the first time they had touched since the night she burned her hand pouring the tea and the heat from his fingers seemed hotter than the kettle water. She kept her head turned away from him as he spoke. “It’s not what you think, it was my mother’s ring—it’s been in my family for generations. I flew from Antigua to deliver it to my sister, Diana—she’s proposing to her girlfriend. I was originally supposed to get it to her for Christmas, but well,” he said, reluctantly taking his hand from her soft wrist and instantly missing the first human contact he’d had since long before the pandemic.

Charlotte turned to face him, feeling relieved and embarrassed at the same time. “You told me so much that night…why not this?” she said, looking at him for an explanation and hoping he was willing to give it.

“I…just…all of my siblings have really great relationships. Both Tom and Arthur have amazing marriages and now Diana…I didn’t want to talk about it, I guess,” he said, looking down at his hands. “These two weeks have been the best relationship I’ve had in a long time—if ever,” he barely whispered.

“Me too,” she raised her eyes briefly to his then lowered them again. “I’ve stood up at three of my siblings’ weddings, and as the oldest, that’s a bit humbling,” she said. “It makes me wonder what I keep doing wrong and if I’ve ever done anything right with the opposite sex.”

“You have with me,” Sidney said, gently taking her hands in his. “That first morning, after I saw your name on your laptop, I told you that you saved my life. I wasn’t talking about opening the cottage door for me. I was talking about the review of my restaurant you wrote years ago. I should have told you sooner. I absolutely hated what I was doing but everyone kept on praising it and throwing ridiculous amounts of money at me. When I read your review, I knew I wasn’t crazy—that what I was doing really was conceited and overpriced. It wasn’t me,” he said, slowly pulling her closer.

“It’s not well known, but I sold all of my restaurants to an investment group. They have the rights to use my name for another year, but I’ve been living in Antigua for the last few years working with aid groups to reestablish food supply chains after disasters—it’s been a good base to help efforts in Haiti and other islands. You have no idea how much you’ve bettered my life, and now these two weeks, here with you…” he said reaching up to remove his mask. “I don’t want them to end,” he said reaching behind her and slowly untying her bandana.

“But you banned me from your restaurants—threatened to pull advertising,” she said, confused.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea—that must have been my business partners. I actually wrote you many times to thank you—but I never sent the letters thinking you’d find me silly,” he said, “I’ve been following you for years. I guess if there is anything this pandemic has taught me is that I don’t want to waste any more time—now that I’ve found the person I want to be with.”

They both looked at each other—studying every freckle, dimple, and line that was long hidden by their masks.

After several minutes, she whispered, “is today some day?”

“I hope so,” he said, raising his hand to stroke her cheek and wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her to him. He lowered his lips to hers, first brushing lightly then releasing the passion he had leashed for what felt like an eon. She met his fervor in equal measure, her hands traveling up his back and pulling him to her with the same intensity as he did her. They lost themselves…their hands, lips, and tongues exploring until Charlotte pulled away due to the slight smell of something burning.

“Sauce,” she said, looking up at Sidney.

“Yes, yes,” he stumbled away from her and quickly lowered the heat on the sauce. “Does this mean you and I are in the same pod now?” he asked, looking back at her as he stirred.

“Oh, with a kiss like that, I think yes,” she smiled, walking to him and laying her head on his back as her arms enveloped his waist. “In fact, I think I need to drive you to Sanditon tomorrow to deliver that ring—as your podmate and all.”

“I’d like that…and um, and since you’re working virtually anyway…we could have a pod in Antigua until this pandemic is over,” he said, holding his breath. “It’s not Monaco and I’m not Cary Grant, but it’s beautiful and there are lots of beaches for Coco.”

Charlotte lovingly tightened her embrace, happier than she’d ever felt. “2021 is going to be a much better year, I just know it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for staying to the end of my sappy little story! Sorry for typos—blame them on 2020!
> 
> If you’re interested, this is the ring for Diana’s fiancé 😊 https://www.antiquejewellerycompany.com/shop/georgian-18ct-gold-diamond-emerald-ring/


End file.
